


Silver Linings

by chaos_monkey



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Coming In Pants, Desperation, Frottage, M/M, Overly set up smut, Possessive Marcone?, Watersports, Wetting, possible dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 17:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: It was really not the best Saturday I'd ever had.Granted, it maybe wasn't theworsteither, but it ranked pretty high up on the "not how I planned my weekend to go" list. It had started out just fine— a lazy morning after closing up a case that left me with a comfortable month or two's worth of cushion on the rent, some leftover pizza, and a good book— but fast forward twelve hours, and there I was. Wet, cold, and chained to the floor in some dank basement, by an unknown assailant who knew way more about a wizard's powers than I was at all comfortable with.That wasn't the shitty part, though, believe it or not.





	Silver Linings

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a Dresden/Marcone fic for awhile now, but didn't have a single idea for one until I went "Huh, there is really not enough watersports in this fandom." So I figured, hey, niche kink is the best thing to introduce myself with, right? and wrote this. 
> 
> >>If pee is not your thing, you maybe shouldn't read it<<
> 
> Anyway, this is hardly a serious work but I hope the characterization isn't too off! I've never written Dresden before. (Also this isn't set anywhere in the timeline in particular, just vaguely somewhere where these two have had at least a few run-ins already, but before the series really gets dark.)

It was really not the best Saturday I'd ever had. 

Granted, it maybe wasn't the _ worst _either, but it ranked pretty high up on the "not how I planned my weekend to go" list. It had started out just fine— a lazy morning after closing up a case that left me with a comfortable month or two's worth of cushion on the rent, some leftover pizza, and a good book— but fast forward twelve hours, and there I was. Wet, cold, and chained to the floor in some dank basement, by an unknown assailant who knew way more about a wizard's powers than I was at all comfortable with. 

That wasn't the shitty part, though, believe it or not. The _ shitty _ part was that John freaking Marcone was chained to that floor with me. On _ top _of me. 

Hooray. 

Now he's not a massive man, Gentleman Johnny Marcone, but he's not tiny either, and that kind of weight really gets crushing after the first hour or so. After _ four, _well, I was seriously starting to wonder if my ribs would end up permanently deformed. 

The most charitable thoughts I could summon about the man at that point were that (a) I probably would have been suffering a certain degree of hypothermia by then if it wasn't for Marcone's body heat, given the chilly, damp air and the constant, shallow stream of cool water flowing under my back; and (b) he hadn't insisted on _ talking _ through the whole ordeal. Once we were both conscious again, he had inquired, surprisingly politely, why I hadn't already magicked our restraints open, but hadn't pressed the issue when I curtly informed that if I _ could _have, I most certainly would have. 

Unfortunately, someone knew what they were doing, and while I could feel the dampening effect of that blasted potion wearing off excruciatingly slowly, the dampening effect of the running water (ha ha see what I did there? Let it never be said that Harry Dresden doesn't keep his sense of humour even in dire times) meant that it would be some time yet before I'd be able to summon even a trickle of magic to free us. 

Marcone's blessed silence at least let me ignore the awkwardness of our position and drift away into some weird form of meditation while I fought a sort of internal battle of wills against the potion. My slim hope was that I'd manage to push back the effects of it faster than my unknown captor would expect; not completely, but enough to get us unchained and on our feet. And hell, at that point, the chains themselves might even prove useful as weapons, given that neither of us had anything in our respective possessions but the clothes on our backs. 

That _ was _one other thing to be grateful for, I suppose. This entire situation would have been infinitely worse if that weren't the case, given just how snugly Marcone was nestled in against me. It had been, well, an embarrassingly long time since I'd been in such intimate contact with anyone (anyone who wasn't trying to kill, maim, or coerce me at the time, anyway), and some tiny and irritating little animalistic corner of my brain kept trying to convince me that it felt… nice. 

I had been managing to ignore that little voice _ and _ its deeply unsettling suggestions for awhile now (and before I'm accused of being a homophobe, _ no, _ that's not what was unsettling about it. When you've seen the things I have, the lines of sexuality tend to get a little blurred. But _ come on, _ this was _ Johnny Marcone. _Sure, I'll admit he's nice to look at. But so are venomous snakes, and you still wouldn't get into bed with one of those). So despite the ongoing betrayal of good sense by my baser instincts, I had managed to spend the better part of those four hours gathering my will and inching myself closer to getting me and Marcone the hell out of there. 

It was going really well until he started fidgeting.

"Marcone, would you settle down?" I finally snapped after several minutes of it, exasperated. "It's hard enough to concentrate without you squirming around up there."

I couldn't see his face. With just barely enough give in the chains for him to raise his head up enough to look at me, he'd rested it down on my shoulder instead, ages ago. Which had definitely been a huge relief. I didn't have the soulgaze to worry about with him, of course, not after our first meeting— but having someone's eyes on yours and their face closer than anyone's ever gets unless you're about to kiss them; well, that tended to get a little distracting no matter who it was. 

"My apologies, Harry. I find myself… somewhat uncomfortable at the moment." 

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one. Just chill out and let me concentrate so I can get us out of here, and then we can _ both _stop being uncomfortable. And don't call me Harry."

Marcone fell silent— and more importantly, _ still. _

I closed my eyes, gathering my will against the muffled feeling of the potion coursing through me, and pushed away the sensation of the hard stone floor, the cold flowing water, the— 

Marcone squirmed again, completely destroying my concentration. 

"Damn it, Marcone! What the hell?" 

Marcone sighed, a sharp, quick sound; his chest moving on mine and his breath warm on my neck; and it was definitely only the sudden contrast in temperature that sent a shiver through me. "How long would you estimate we've been here for, Dresden?" 

"A little over four hours." I was pretty certain of that. I didn't remember blacking out, for once— after the initial one, I mean— and wizards generally have a pretty good sense of time passing. 

"Exactly. And while I don't presume to speak for you, I certainly was not given the chance to visit the restroom before being forced into our current situation." 

It took me a few seconds to clue in, but once I did, my stomach dropped. 

"Uh. What."

Marcone shrugged. "Perhaps wizards are different, but we mere mortals still bow to the demands of the human body," he said somewhat acidly, his snappish tone only mildly diminished by virtue of being partly muffled into my shoulder. 

"Well… Jesus, Marcone, just _ hold _it!" 

"What do you think I've been doing, Harry?" Marcone squirmed again, and this time I could pick out the strain in his voice. 

I may have panicked slightly then, and didn't even remember to tell him off for using my first name. "Hold it _ longer, _then! For Christ's sake, Marcone, I'm— you can't—" 

Marcone raised his head and met my eyes. "How much longer until you're able to get us free?" 

"Hell, I don't know." I closed my eyes against that piercing gaze, thinking. Trying to ignore Marcone's now-constant shifting on top of me, particularly in the, er, pelvic region. The way he was moving would have been downright erotic if I didn't know exactly _ why _he was doing it. "Maybe another hour?" 

Marcone huffed a wry laugh. "Unless you can drastically improve on that time, it will not be soon enough." 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. "All _ right, _I'll see what I can do."

I tried. I really, really tried. But between my own discomfort and Marcone's incessant wriggling, I didn't have a hope in hell of focusing enough to pull off a miraculous escape.

I finally gave up the pretense when Marcone actually _ whimpered. _He'd been getting increasingly tense, squeezing the insides of his thighs against the outsides of mine— Jesus, his legs were strong, and why my mind decided it was a good time to notice that, I'll never know— and the squirming was only getting worse. I'd seen lap dances that would have been put to shame by the way Johnny Marcone's hips were moving.

Never mind that this was the closest I'd ever been to actually getting one of those. My life is really unfair sometimes.

"_Fine. _Just… just fucking get it over with, then. I can't concentrate like this anyway," I finally ground out. I told myself that it really wasn't that big a deal. I told myself that the backs of my jeans were soaked through anyway so it wasn't like it would make much of a difference. I told myself a lot of things, but what it really boiled down to was that John Marcone was about to piss on me and there wasn't a damn thing either of us could do about it. 

A suppressed shudder ran through Marcone and he whimpered again, a desperate little sound like nothing I'd ever heard from him before, and one that I definitely did not find arousing in the slightest. I kept my eyes shut tight, trying to think about something else; _ anything _else, besides the way Marcone's panting breaths were soft and warm on the skin of my neck, the way his hips were flush with mine and his thighs still tense against my legs, or the way he suddenly stopped squirming and went still against me. 

Just as I was resigning myself to the fact that I'd failed utterly at thinking about something besides those things, Marcone _ moaned, _a long, low, shivering sigh of pure relief that sounded almost sexual. That was all the warning I had before I felt it— a spreading rush of warmth, nearly burning hot in comparison to the cold water and the general chill of the room. Marcone had gone completely limp on top of me, his chest was rising and falling fast and shallow while he panted, and— 

I trembled. 

I couldn't help it. I was cold and wet, tired and sore, and all I could process was the wash of incredibly welcome heat, first seeping and then flooding through my jeans, soaking my crotch, my upper thighs; even part of my stomach. 

It felt _ fantastic. _

It shouldn't have, but it did. And Marcone must drink too much coffee or something, because he kept right on going for what felt like ages. I just lay there while he emptied himself, too blissed-out by the sudden warmth to care where it was coming from anymore; and, I have to admit, enjoying the weird mockery of intimacy that was only heightened by the soft and unmistakable noises of pleasure Marcone was making next to my ear. 

By the time he was done, I was drenched, but almost comfortably warm for the first time in… well, over four hours.

I finally broke the awkward silence by making it more awkward. "Wow. You, uh… you really weren't kidding about needing to go, huh." (Look, you try coming up with a witty remark after a top-tier crime lord has just wet his pants _ and _yours at the same damn time, okay.) 

There was a pause; then Marcone raised his head off my shoulder and smirked at me. After all that, the bastard _ smirked _at me. "No. I also wasn't expecting you to enjoy it so much, Harry."

I frowned and opened my mouth to tell him to shut the hell up. "Fuck you, Marcone, it's cold in here. And for the last time, _ don't _ call me Ha-_uhhhh_—"

My retort turned into an embarrassingly loud moan when Marcone chose that moment to roll his hips, grinding himself against me and driving home the abrupt realization that I was— 

"That doesn't quite explain _ this,_" Marcone said, his smirk growing as he moved his hips in another slow, deliberate thrust. "_Harry._"

—hard. 

I was chained to a floor, John Marcone had just pissed all over me, and I was completely, achingly, _ desperately _hard. 

Again, not the weekend I'd imagined when I got up that morning. 

"That's not— I don't—" 

Marcone was still thrusting, still grinding against me with that insufferably knowing smirk on his face. "You don't what? You're really going to lie there, hard as a rock, and tell me this doesn't feel good?" Marcone tsk-ed. "You should learn to relax sometimes, Dresden." 

I was going to yell at him to quit screwing around, but instead all that came out was another incoherent moan when Marcone buried his face in my neck and started sucking on my skin. His mouth was warm and wet, his teeth sharp, and he didn't stop moving on top of me while he kissed and licked and bit a searing trail down my neck to my shoulder. And I don't know how I didn't notice it sooner, but it suddenly sank in that I was apparently not the only one who'd gotten… inappropriately excited by Marcone wetting himself. 

His cock was hot and stiff against my own erection as he rubbed against me, the friction of my wet jeans through my equally wet boxers just barely on the right side of too much. I probably should have protested more, but it had been too long since I'd been with anyone, and I'm just not a fan of taking care of things by myself unless I really have to. 

Needless to say, I was a little pent-up. 

And... Marcone was right, damn him. It felt good. It felt _ really _good; and before long I was rocking my hips to match his rhythm, my breath coming fast and shallow and little panting grunts escaping my lips as the tension in my gut coiled higher. Marcone hadn't let up on my neck, and I could feel the heat of his breath, the warmth of his body pressed against my chest and stomach, the flexing of his thighs as he thrust.

I came _ hard, _ release rolling through me as my cock throbbed, pulsing out into my boxers to coat my skin in slick wet heat. It was intense enough to make my head spin, and I was still shivering and twitching from the aftershocks when Marcone sank his teeth into my neck with an honest-to-god _ growl _and went completely rigid on top of me. 

"What the _ fuck _ was that, Marcone?" I spluttered a few minutes later, once I could breathe properly again. I didn't think he'd broken the skin, but _ ow. _My skin was still tingling where he'd bitten me. 

"I imagine being that aroused would have rather severely hindered your ability to concentrate," Marcone answered, his voice irritatingly steady. "Knowing you, you would have simply let it _ and _your embarrassment distract you rather than doing anything about it, and I for one would prefer to actually get out of this predicament at some point." 

My mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times. That hadn't actually been what I was talking about, but I suddenly realized I really didn't want him to know that out of everything that had just happened, it was they way he'd bitten my neck while he came that I'd gotten hung up on. 

"Whatever," I finally said. Creativity, thy name is Dresden. 

Marcone didn't respond to my clever rebuttal, and I closed my eyes again, trying to ignore the increasingly unpleasant, sticky mess that was my nether regions at this point. The whole ordeal hadn't lasted too long, fortunately, and I could use the leftover roil of strong emotion to fuel my magic and possibly break us out of this sooner than I'd expected. Plus, the water meant that while I was still soaked, at least I wasn't lying in a puddle of… well, not water. 

It was slim, as far as silver linings go, but I wasn't going to be picky given the circumstances. I pushed aside thoughts like _what the fuck just happened _ and _ why _and _oh god, why _and gathered my focus. It's all about knowing how to prioritize. Get out of potentially life-threatening situation first; worry about John Marcone's motivations later. Worry about my own motivations… possibly never. Yeah. Never sounded pretty good right about then. 

I spared a final, mournful thought for the loss of my quiet weekend, and got back to it. 


End file.
